


War Gods and Muses

by barbarosabee



Series: (mis)Adventures with a Wild Mustang [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I just love the horses in this game so much ok, Man vs nature, No Spoilers, Whump, gimme an AU that's just Arthur taming horses until he retires, horse bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 02:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18356714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbarosabee/pseuds/barbarosabee
Summary: Ambushed far away from camp, our favorite cowpoke has to fight nature and outlaws alike to get back home. With no horse and no saddle, he's certain he isn't going to make it.Just your basic "cowboy tames a wild mustang and bad things happen along the way" story.





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur growled at the sky as he dragged himself away from the river crashing behind him. Something caught on his clothes and he sagged into the mud, breathless. _For Chrissakes_. Lay there exhausted, trying not to breathe mud through his nose. The sky was too crowded with clouds for him to tell what time it was, not that it much mattered. Half-drowned as he was, wouldn’t matter if it was near dawn or near dusk. He’d freeze soon, either way. Caught out high in the mountains with no right idea where he’d washed up.

His horse was dead. He knew that much. Took an O’Driscoll bullet to the head, he remembered the docile stallion crumpling wetly beneath him like a bloody sack of rotten peaches.

“Sorry, boy,” he whispered to himself. When had his eyes closed? He struggled to open them again and gave up, let the darkness wash over him just as the river had.

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

No idea how much time had passed, but the light was dim and his fingers were numb.

Pulled in a deep breath and rolled onto his side.

Pain shot through him so fast he couldn’t tell _where_ it was coming from, just that he needed it to stop _right now_. Lay panting half-curled and willed his heart to slow.

He looked around without moving his head. A dark lump half hidden in some bulrush might be his saddlebags. Nothing he could see on the opposite bank. Still had no earthly idea where he was, didn’t know how far the O’Driscolls had chased him before they hit his horse. Wasn’t sure exactly what happened after that, still. His tongue sat thick and heavy—dehydrated. He figured he must’ve hit his head, hoped he’d remember what happened soon so he could make a plan for getting back to camp.

Time for a second attempt. Slower, this time, he eased upright. Sharp pain from his hip, lancing up his side. His clothes were torn but too damp to see if there was any blood. All the blood seemed to leave his head when he tried to peel back his shirt to get a better look. Spent a few minutes breathing through his nose, eyes screwed shut.

The clouds parted to reveal unfamiliar stars. Never was much good at using them to navigate, but he wasn’t an idiot and he could tell when the sky looked different. He hadn’t seen the night sky like this in his times ranging the state in search of leads. He’d been pretty far, too, Hosea teased him enough about his “gallivanting” Arthur felt he should recognize the goddamn stars by now.

His head seemed to be in better sorts, now, so he gave it another go. A deep line of red over his hip from a close bullet, lucky the lead hadn’t buried itself in the bone. Ribs felt scratched to all hell but nothing bleeding. Broken, most likely; every breath felt like knives being shoved into his lungs. He couldn’t do much about either without supplies.

Arthur did a quick check of everything else. Rolled his ankles, flexed his fingers, shifted shoulders. Everything felt bruised and stiff and like he’d been run over by a train and dragged from Valentine clear through to Saint Denis. But other than the ribs and the graze, nothing noteworthy or serious. He could limp back to camp.

Soon as he figured out where camp was.

His eyes landed on the lump in the reeds. Hadn’t moved, wasn’t moving, so not an animal. Had to be his saddlebags; his satchel had, miraculously, stayed on him during his watery adventure.

Arthur pulled his legs towards him.

Or, he tried to. He _told_ his legs to get beneath him, so he could stumble up into a crouch. He’d gotten up after worse scrapes than this.

His legs twitched. He snarled.

“C’mon Morgan, _move_.”

Arthur lurched sideways and shoved himself to his feet, stumbling until he landed on his knees in front of the lump.

One saddlebag. It had stayed cinched shut, but its companion had been violently ripped away by the river.

Arthur tamped down his frustration as his fingers struggled to undo the buckles. He released a shaky breath when he saw the broken glass shards and waterlogged herbs. He dumped the bag onto the bank and carefully sifted through it. Some of the glass nicked his fingertips but he barely felt it. The cold had seeped in some time ago, and he hardly noticed the blood as dread struggled to claw out his stomach. None of the tonics had survived. The soaked herbs wouldn’t be a problem, ‘cept this was the side he kept the cooking herbs in. A wet ball of mint and oregano wasn’t doing him any favors at the moment.

He flopped onto his ass with a sigh, couldn’t keep himself from falling all the way onto his back. Right back to where he started, just ten feet farther down river.

  
\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

The moon was directly above him when he jolted back awake. Something heavy snuffled through the thick bushes near the river. Hard to tell if it was a predator or not, Arthur’d seen some pretty big elk around the cold mountain-high rivers like this one. He kept his breaths even as he eased his lone revolver from the holster. His other one had fallen out at some point, off-hand holster gone as well. He’d have to ration his bullets, too, only had a half-empty box tucked into his satchel. Briefly he accepted that he would probably die if it turned out to be a bear, his revolver wouldn't do anything besides piss it off.

A round face parted the bushes ahead of thick equine legs. Another horse appeared next to the first, but the waning sliver of moon didn’t give Arthur enough light to see what breed they were. Two more made their way out, a foal stumbling behind them as they lowered their heads to the river. The first one, Arthur could now see was the stallion, kept his head up, nostrils flared open against the wind. The same wind lifted Arthur’s stiff hair away from his face, and he exhaled knowing the horses couldn’t smell him.

The stallion’s ears whipped towards him. Arthur’s cold brain couldn’t quite manage to think fast enough, _gee, Morgan, maybe you should catch that horse_ before the stallion snorted. The small herd disappeared into the bushes faster than they appeared.

“Aw hell.” Arthur huffed and pressed a hand against his battered side, grit his teeth and bit the inside of his cheek as he struggled to his feet. Left his useless half-saddlebag by the river and started in the direction the horses had fled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I accidentally stayed up all night writing this whole story from start to finish? So chapter 1 is super short sorry y'all I just love horses too much,
> 
> Enjoy.

The horses had no problems outrunning Arthur, and he didn’t have the strength to try any harder. He’d managed to get far enough from the river that he stumbled onto an overgrown road. Wildflowers crowded the dry grooves left by wagon wheels. The road curved around a steep hill, nearly too steep to climb. Arthur couldn’t see any signs in either direction, couldn’t hear any late-night traffic, didn’t even hear any goddamn _owls_.

  _Where the hell am I_.

 Arthur rubbed a hand over his face. The world tilted sideways and he sat down roughly in the middle of the road. Scrunched his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 Things had righted themselves when he opened his eyes again. He hauled himself off the road and leaned against a tree, dug around his satchel for any scrap of food that wasn’t waterlogged. Decided to dump everything out and do an inventory while he waited for the sun to come up. Did his best to ignore the ache in his ribs and the sting in his hip. It still bled, sluggish, but he didn’t have half a scrap to wrap it with, had to just hope for the best that it stopped on its own.

 Half a stick salted venison. An opened health cure. Few wedges of cheese, two carrots, a can of beans. By some miracle the sugar cubes and peppermints had kept dry in their waxed canvas pouch. Arthur counted them with an ache in his chest, shoved them into the bottom of the satchel and piled everything else on top.

 By another miracle his journal remained intact. Glad someone had talked him into getting waxed canvas for that, too, and his pencils. He started drawing without a second thought, and it wasn’t until the tops of the pines were tinged pink that he realized he’d sketched Nero.

 Arthur’d taken plenty of jabs for how sweet he was on his horses. His first horse had been a scrawny mule, hadn’t even been able to tell what it were until he got it back to camp and Dutch laughed at him for it. Arthur, young and dumb, didn’t care in the slightest, loved that mule like a prized racehorse until a lawman shot it out from beneath him.

 Boadicea’s loss was still fresh when Arthur got the horse from Mrs. Adler’s barn. Named him Nero, almost immediately. Arthur didn’t have much in this world past what could fit in the munitions wagon, and every horse was precious.

 The tip of the pencil bit into the paper, ripped it, snapped the lead. Arthur smudged the sketch with his sleeve and yanked the cord tight around the journal. Shoved it deep into his satchel and pushed away from the tree.

 Staggered immediately. His hip hurt, not unbearably, more a surprise after sitting still for so many hours. He rolled out the stiffness in his body and searched the sky for the sun. Eyed the steep hill on one side of the road. Better vantage point would help him figure out where he was, but he wasn’t confident he could get back _down_.

 Finally sorting which way was east, he struck out along the road and hoped it didn’t curve too far north. Didn’t want to end up backtracking all the way to the Grizzlies. The road looked like it hadn’t seen use in a long, long while. There was some reassurance in familiar plants, yarrow and sage, close-growing pines. Squirrel and deer the same as he’d seen in his farther north travels. Can’t have gone too far down the river.

 But Arthur was no expert, and after what felt like hours and nothing but _more goddamn trees_ , he was starting to doubt the direction he chose. The road behind him disappeared between dense trees and steep rock walls, and the way ahead was much the same. He didn’t want to just follow the river, didn’t want to risk ending up near Blackwater. If he walked all the way to Flatiron Lake he’d be surprised, and probably not survive walking much further than that.

 The sun did its best to dry him out. He wasn’t so far into the mountains anymore that there was much cold, and sweat stung his cuts as it dripped down his back. His hip seemed to burn hotter than the sun itself and he worried infection was setting in. Lord knew it was bound to happen, churned through the river as he had been. Small miracle he didn’t already have a fever from all that time he spent lounging in the mud through the night.

 His foot caught on something and he stumbled to a stop in the shade of a sprawling oak tree. Something chittered angrily at him from the high branches.He dragged a hand across his forehead. Might have to get back down to the river anyways, just to get a damn drink. He’d lost his canteen along with his saddle, and he wasn’t about to dump out the health cure to use the bottle for water. Tiny thing could barely hold a mouthful, wouldn’t be useful anyways. Arthur dug a cheese wedge from his satchel and broke it into crumbs as he considered his options. The sun continued its effort to cook him alive. He was starting to get dizzy again, slid down the trunk until he was sitting. Only then did he realize he’d lost his hat, a real nice custom one that trapper’d made for him. Maybe he could get another one. What had he made it out of?

 Arthur shook himself from his meandering thoughts. The chittering had stopped and the birds had gone quiet. He held himself still, measured his breathing.

 The sounds of a wagon pinged off the rock walls. Snorting horses, clanging tack, uneven wobble of old wheels. Not a nice stagecoach, then, probably some homesteader.

 Arthur struggled to his feet, one hand braced against the tree, the other against his aching side. He stood as close to the road as he could without being in it and squinted against the sun. The wagon was coming from behind, from the way he hadn’t gone. So it must be going towards somewhere he could get help. Or it just left somewhere he could get help.

 Thinking about it hurt.

 The wagon came into view around the rock. A covered wagon, canvas rolled up. Looked pretty empty except for the two people driving it, a man and a woman. The woman had a big shotgun in her lap.

 Arthur cleared his throat. “Excuse me, mister!”

 The man took his time stopping the wagon. Arthur could almost touch the horses, if he stretched a little. The woman pointed the gun straight at him. He quickly put his hands up, wincing.

 “What you want?”

 “I’m a bit lost, mister, me an’ my horse. . . .well as you can see, don’t have the horse anymore.”

 “You look in a bad way, how I know you ain’t one of them bandits, got in a fight robbin' some poor fool?”

 Arthur kept his hands raised. “Look, mister, you can see I’m pretty beat up. Horse slipped crossing the river and I had a bit of a tumble.”

The man and the woman looked at each other for a brief moment before the woman lowered the gun. “We can give you a ride to Strawberry, and that’s it.”

 “I sure appreciate it, ma’am.”

 The man hopped down from the wagon and pulled a pistol from the back of his trousers. Arthur’s hands shot back up.

 “Ain’t fixin' to cause trouble, mister.”

 The man kept the gun level with Arthur’s chest as he looked him over. “I been robbed a’fore, I ain’t taking any chances.”

 Arthur resisted the urge to sigh. “ 'M in no fit state to rob nobody, mister, please. Got roughed up pretty good in that river.”

 “Yeah I can see that.” The man’s eyes were on Arthur’s bloody hip. It had stopped bleeding on its own, but Arthur knew if you looked too closely it was obviously from a bullet. “Alright hop in back. Claire here’s gonna have that gun pointed on you, you try anything funny and she’ll put two in your chest.”

 “Wouldn’t take but one, mister.”

 The man scowled. “Don’t sass me, I’m doin’ you a favor.”

 “Ok, ok, my apologies. Thanks again.”

 “Mmm, now git in back.”

 No one spoke. Arthur wanted to ask how far it was, but these people seemed twitchy and Claire had the look of a weathered frontier woman who stared down bears before she'd even had breakfast. Arthur found himself drifting, eyes heavy under the midday sun. He didn’t know when he’d last drank. He suspected he had a concussion. Split on the fever, or not, it was just so damn _warm_ inside the back of that wagon. It wasn’t empty, as he’d first assumed. Half of it was packed with tightly rolled furs and pelts, the other half crammed with bulging potato sacks. There was a sliver of space just big enough for him to sit in with his legs jammed into his chest. The position wasn’t doing his hip any favors, felt like it was bleeding again, but he didn’t dare move or mention it. Just counted his luck on getting a ride into town with people who didn’t try to kill him on sight.

 He should’ve known. He really should’ve. Nothing ever went right for Arthur Morgan.

 The wagon jolted to a stop with panicked cries from the horses. Arthur snapped out of his doze. Claire had completely forgotten him and had her gun pointed somewhere past the horses. Arthur couldn’t see what she was pointing at, but it didn’t sound like they were being robbed.

 The man fired his gun, emptied the clip. “I said git back!”

 The horses screamed. The wagon lurched forward. As Arthur struggled to unfold himself, he finally heard it. That low, unmistakable rasp of a grizzly bear.

 “Get back! Get back I said!” Claire this time. She fired twice. The horses lunged. The grizzly roared.

 Arthur threw himself from the wagon. He landed on his back and forgot how to breathe, all the air knocked from him, ribs creaking. He watched as the wagon careened off the path. He could hear the horses screaming over the crash of the vehicle through the dense brush. The man and the woman stood in the middle of the path, the grizzly no more than fifteen feet from them. Both were fumbling to reload their weapons.

 The man got one shot off before the grizzly tackled him. Arthur shut his eyes at the sound of teeth crunching into bone. The woman screamed, deep, _angry_ , a goddamn warcry and brought the shotgun to the bear’s head. Pulled the trigger. The gun jammed.

 The bear roared at the woman, spit and blood flying, swatted the gun away and smacked a paw against her head in the same motion. The woman pulled a knife from the folds of her dress and stabbed it into the grizzly as it pinned her to the ground, that same terrible, deep, angry scream coming from her until the grizzly clamped down on her neck and ended it.

 Arthur looked around. Woods to one side, sheer hill to the other. He hadn’t seen which direction the bear came from, and he suddenly couldn’t remember anything about bears other than they could _kill_ him and he _wanted to be very far away from this one_.

 He got his feet beneath him and scrambled up the hill. He could hear the bear crunch through someone’s rib cage. He didn’t look back. A cascade of dust and small stones and dead leaves marked his path up the hill and he prayed the bear didn’t notice. Twigs caught in the tears of his shirt, rocks cut into his bare palms. He slipped and one gouged down his forearm but he didn’t have time to stop and think about it, all he could hear was that _crunch_ and the panic of the horses who had dashed themselves off the edge of a cliff.

 Arthur was forced to stop when his ribs burned and his sides cramped too sharp for him to keep breathing. He flopped onto his back and stared at the swaying pines above him, breathed shallow until his heart stopped pounding and the black spots receded from his vision. If he didn’t get water soon he wasn’t making it much farther.

 He thought back to the horses from the river. _Stupid_. Should’ve gone slower, tried harder to catch one. He could be halfway back to camp by now if he just had a damn horse. He tried not to think about Nero, but he did, and then he was thinking about Boadicea, and he had to stop himself there because he knew what spiral that always led to.

 The world gradually came back to him. Sounds drifted along the gentle breeze. Higher up, where he had blindly scrambled to, it was a bit cooler. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to gather his thoughts.

 Strawberry. No idea how far, but close enough that it looked like the couple hadn’t packed to stay there overnight. So close enough to get there and back in a day, assuming they lived nearby. Try to get to their homestead? No, that was in the opposite direction, most likely, and he had no idea where it might even be. Maybe they _had_ been travelling for more than a day, he had no way of knowing. Strawberry was still his best bet. Just follow the road, there would be signs when he started getting close enough. Or at least more people. Something. Anything.

 The road. Arthur shot up. The movement made his head wobble, but not as bad as earlier. Where was the road? He staggered to his feet, to the crest of the hill.

 When he looked down all he saw were trees. Mostly pines, just pines as far as he could see. Some small valley he was dipped into, and all he could see on the other side was _more goddamn trees_. Couldn’t even see the river anymore. Where the hell was he? Maybe he’d hit his head harder than he first thought. Where had he been going when the O’Driscolls jumped him? Where had he been coming from?

 Arthur realized he had no idea. He couldn't remember what he’d been doing. Had Dutch sent him out? Had Arthur had is own lead? What the hell was he doing all the way out here?

 Arthur tried to ignore the racing of his heart, pulled in as big a breath as he could stand. Alright. Not all was lost. He knew which was was east, west, north, and south. All he needed was the sun and he could orientate himself to safety. He’d gotten out of worse before, he’d lived through a lot worse before Dutch.

He studied the sun, the length of the shadows. He had probably another three hours before it sunk too low behind the valley wall and he’d have to make camp for the night, without a firestarter or a tent or provisions. He could do this.

 

-0 - 0 - 0 -

 

“I can’t fucking do this.”

 Arthur threw down the sticks onto his meager pile of kindling. Charles had insisted on showing him how to start a fire with just sticks. Hadn’t let Arthur alone until he’d sparked at least one fire, built it up, and kept it going. Took Arthur a week of broken blisters and bitter swears, but he had done it eventually. Once. With perfect sticks.

 Now, he was stuck using whatever he could find. Pine needles would catch no problem, but he’d had a hard time finding dry enough sticks to even get the fire going. He resigned himself to a cold night on the cold ground in the cold woods.

 “Load of bullshit,” he grumbled as he snugged his ruined clothes closer. The moon had waned further, and he was starting to get worried about predators. His pistol wasn’t going to do much against a wolf or a cougar or a _goddamn grizzly_ . He briefly considered sleeping in a tree, but he didn’t trust himself enough not to fall out, even if it _was_ only that one time.

 Something howled in the distance. Arthur scrunched tighter into himself, tucked his chin against his chest. He was pretty sure he didn’t have a fever, by the grace of god alone, but he wished he had one now with how the cold crept into his bones and set his teeth chattering. The wind battered Arthur against the rough bark of the old pine.

 The howl was closer. A second and a third joined it. Arthur waited for the next one, to see where it was coming from, and slowly made his way in the opposite direction. Pretty sure he was downwind, so they wouldn’t be able to follow his scent. Prayed he was downwind.

 The hill dropped sharply. Arthur missed it. His stomach fell out from beneath him as he somersaulted, certain this was where he was going to die, stumbling off a cliff in the middle of the night trying to avoid wolves.

 The fall was short, no more than five feet. It jarred his ankles and rattled all the way to the tips of his ears. Arthur hobbled around waiting for the ache to dissipate, cursing under his breath and staring at the moon, accusing it of some particularly nasty business.

 Once he looked up, he sucked in a surprised breath. He recognized this lake. A bit small to call it a lake, but that’s what everyone called it. Lake Owanjilla. He knew this road! He knew how to get to Strawberry from here, he could walk there in a night and be back at camp in a day.

 Something like hope twitched to life in him. He started down the path, completely confident in his decision this time. Not sure how he managed to stumble from an unknown path, through the wilderness, only to find familiar territory, but he would count his blessings. Just a few hours’ walk and this would all be over.

 

 

Arthur walked until the sun grazed the tips of the trees and splattered washed-out pink along the rock faces in the distance. He kept close to the stream that fed into the lake; rather than guzzle his stomach full of creek water in one go, he spaced out his stops and decided to take a longer rest at dawn to check his wounds.

 He felt around his sides and back. Shallow scrapes layered over dark, _dark_ bruises. He thought he felt one rib shift when he poked at it, and he was certain he passed out when that happened. The wound to his hip hadn’t hit bone but he still needed stitches; he could feel the edges pull and gape as he walked, and the thing refused to stop bleeding. The side of his pants was stained halfway down his thigh, now. He’d seen wounds cauterized out of desperation before, but without any kind of fire that wasn’t even an option. The gash on his forearm from his mad uphill scramble wasn’t as bad as he first thought. He cleaned it in the stream and determined it just needed to be bandaged. His sleeve covering it would have to be enough for now.

 His shirt was a lost cause. The pants could be patched, but the shirt was absolutely shredded. Surprised it was even still on him. He’d lost his jacket at some point during his downstream journey, a large chunk of his cash along with it, he assumed, since he only had a few soggy dollars left in his satchel and couldn't remember moving it. Or maybe it was in his saddlebag. Didn’t matter, much, he was broke either way. Might be enough to beg a ride off the stagecoach once he got to Strawberry. Arthur hoped his bedraggled appearance and obvious injuries would win him enough sympathy to get close to camp without having to walk the whole damn way. He could do it, he just didn’t want to have to try to explain to Dutch why he’d been gone for a month straight. _Sorry about that Dutch, had to walk, couldn’t find anyone to steal a horse from or any stagecoaches to rob, had to walk_.

 Dutch would probably tan his hide for getting Nero killed and losing all his money. Now he needed a new horse, a new saddle, a new bedroll, new saddlebags, cash. They’d have to dip into the camp fund just for Arthur’s sorry ass.

 A whinny snapped him from his spiraling misery. Across the road, in a small clearing, was a single horse rolling around in the dirt on its back without a care in the world. Arthur watched it long enough to determine it was a dry mare. She looked strong, thick legs lightly feathered around her hooves. Hard to tell what color she was under the dirt, but it looked reddish brown.

 The mare abruptly stopped her rolling, stood, and shook herself mightily. After a few more shakes of her head, she started sniffing around the grass and yanking it up in great clumps.

 Arthur crept towards her, made sure to make himself as small as possible. He’d broken wild horses before, but he’d always had a length of rope for makeshift reins and bridle.

  _Can’t go any worse than anything else has lately_.

 Her head snapped up. Dark eyes lined with white, ruddy ears tipped in black, a thin white blaze from her nose disappearing beneath her overgrown mane. Nostrils flared, but she didn’t back up. Arthur realized she was a mustang; he’d seen one just once before, and only from a distance. Too wild, too hard to break. Faster than the wind.

 “Easy girl, I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

 She reared, bared her teeth.

 “It’s ok girl, easy now.” He inched closer. The mustang stomped her front hooves, dug sharply into the ground. Lowered her head, almost like a buck ready to charge.

 “That’s it, nice and easy.” Hands up where she could see them. She snorted, only stomped one foot. “There you go, that’s right.”

 Arthur stood less than a foot from her. He slowly brought a hand to her neck and gave the lightest touch. She snorted and threw her head back but didn’t move. “See, I’m not gonna hurt ya, easy does it, there we go.”

 He stroked along her thick neck a few more times before hastily swinging onto her back.

 The mare screamed, tossed her head back, and started bucking him across the clearing. Arthur squeezed her sides as hard has he could and tangled both hands in her mane. The mare shook her neck, bounced him back and forth, bucked harder than any stallion Arthur had ever ridden.

 “Easy now!” Arthur continued to calm her, loosening the grip on her mane a little to pet the side of her neck.

 Eventually, both of them struggling for breath, the mustang stopped, head low. “There we go, see? We’re friends now.” Arthur continued to pet along her neck, soothing the places in her mane where he’d held on like his life depended on it. The mustang panted beneath him, he could feel it all the way up his spine how hard she fought to throw him off. His ribs throbbed and burned. Fresh blood at his hip.

 She lifted her head with a snort, shook it, and glared back at him.

 “Not so bad now, is it? Let’s go.” He gently squeezed her sides as he would any new horse.

 The mustang didn’t budge. Arthur kicked a little harder. She huffed, took one step forward.

 “That’s a good girl.”

 Another kick. Another single step. Arthur feared that if he dismounted, she would go charging back off into the forest. After an hour of this, Arthur wondered if it wouldn’t be faster to just _walk_.

 “C’mon girl, I know you got this.”

 The mustang stopped. Huffed. Pawed at the ground, raised up on her hind legs again. Arthur tugged on her mane with a sharp _not that again madam_. She snorted but stopped, cast a baleful look back at Arthur.

 “I know girl, I’m sorry, it’s just for a little while.”

 The mare heaved a sigh. Arthur nudged her sides again. She shot into an uneven trot.

 Arthur couldn’t help the smile that split his face. “There we go! Now we’re ridin’!” He nudged her again until her gait evened out and she stopped tossing her head every few steps. “Yeah, there’s a good girl.”

 Arthur praised that horse more than a parent would a child’s first drawing. She seemed to like it, especially when he scratched behind her ears. Arthur marveled at the power of her, the thick muscles along her shoulders, the powerful flanks. She had an amazing sense of obstacles in the path and flawlessly jumped rocks Arthur hadn’t even noticed. She liked to put up a fuss, he noticed, but she’d do what he asked eventually. Arthur didn’t know much, but he did know horses, and he knew this one was something special.

 He’d seen a lot of folk treat their horses like nothing more than tools, as if they weren’t living breathing creatures. Had stolen more than a few of those horses, too, and found them kinder owners. Or set them loose when none were at hand.

 The mare had an even, steady gait. Seemed she could maintain it forever, with how easy she breathed now she weren't trying to throw him. Definitely faster than Nero, probably enjoyed running for miles in the wild. And here he was, taming her to get back to town faster.

 Arthur lost himself to thought and didn’t hear the rattle of the snake until the mustang was shrieking, dancing around it and pawing at the ground. Arthur did his best to calm her, but the mustang seemed intent on stepping around the snake, not realizing the damn thing wasn’t even _moving_ , just coiled there with its dry rattle.

 “Woah there girl!”

 The mustang shrieked and reared. Unprepared and without any kind of tack, Arthur slid right off. The snake slithered into the bushes and the mustang pounded back down the path, towards where he’d first spotted her.

Arthur struggled to breathe around the pain in his ribs. Something had definitely cracked, this time, he'd felt and heard it. “No! Wait! Come back!”

 He heard her shrieks fade into the distance. He ran after her, but she was so _fast_. He lost sight of her and couldn’t hear any hoofbeats over the burbling of the creek.

  
“Son of a _bitch_.” He put his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. He’d almost forgotten how battered his ribs where, sat atop such a lovely horse. But now those injuries were coming back at him full force and he struggled to get enough air in. Spots flickered across his vision again and he sank to the ground on the side of the trail. Arthur managed to slide into a bush before the spots overtook him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You cannot convince me that Arthur Morgan doesn't love his horses more dearly than just about anything else. You ever watch him cut scenes? If there's a horse within arm's reach of that man, he's petting it.
> 
> I name the horses in my game shit like Maraschino and Snickerdoodle. I think Arthur would be embarrassed.


	3. Chapter 3

Something was crushing him. Something was crushing him and he couldn’t breathe and he was going to die. He gasped desperately and the weight left him at once.

 Arthur opened his eyes to the muzzle of a horse not four inches from his face. He blinked, not convinced it was real, and reached a hand out. It smacked into the horse’s cheek, who snorted and startled back several steps.

 “Hey, girl.” And those were _not_ tears springing to his eyes, thank you very much.

 The mustang approached him again and shoved her head against his chest. He grunted, the weight jostling him a bit, and guided her head away from him. “Gentle now, girl, I’m a bit sore.”

 She puffed hot breath in his face that shifted his hair. Arthur couldn’t help the smile as he pet along her nose and the white stripe leading up to her mane.

 “Didn’t think you’d come back for me, girl.”

 The mare huffed more air into his face, nosed along his head. The soft lips and whiskers tickled behind Arthur’s ears. The mare nibbled his ear gently, pulling away before he could swat at her.

 “None of that, now.”

 She stamped a foot. But she met Arthur’s gaze, her head low, and waited for him to move. Arthur struggled to push himself off the ground, but he managed it eventually. His arm flew out to grab onto anything to stabilize himself with when his hip twinged, and it landed on the mustang. She grunted but made no move to get away from him. He gave her a few hearty thumps to the neck before clumsily getting onto her back.

 “Alright now, where were we?”

 Wild boar squealed around them as they rode the narrow trail through the rocky forest. Arthur’s stomach rumbled. No sense hunting when he couldn’t get a fire doing. He finished off a wedge of cheese from his satchel.

 His hand hit the waxed canvas pouch of horse treats. He dug out a peppermint and leaned forward to offer it to the mustang.

 She swung her head back, not breaking her stride, and sniffed at Arthur’s hand. After a moment of hesitation, she pulled it between her lips. It took her a second, but she let out a startled little noise that had Arthur laughing under his breath. The mare picked up her pace, tossing her head about and snorting.

 “Guess you like peppermint, huh girl?”

 The mustang made a funny noise Arthur wasn’t sure he’d heard a horse make before. Arthur decided he liked it, found himself getting attached to the wild mare. Some parts of her reminded him a lot of Boadicea, but enough of her was different that he didn’t feel the familiar sorrow when he thought of the mare he’d lost to the Blackwater fiasco.

 

 

The trail opened up ahead, not closed in on either side by rocks and trees. Arthur decided to see how fast she could go.

 “You ready girl?” He hunched forward, readjusted his grip. The mare seemed to anticipate what he wanted; maybe she could smell the open meadow ahead. Did she know this area?

 The trees fell away. The meadow stretched over the horizon, farther than Arthur could see with the sun in his eyes. Light danced off the thin creek that snaked through the meadow. He remembered this meadow, had camped here before. Plenty to eat for both of them. But if he remembered correctly, they were close enough to make it to Strawberry before full dark.

 Arthur decided to push ahead and nudged the mustang, hard, with a loud _ya!_

 She leapt forward with a startled whine.The wind stung Arthur’s eyes and he hunched lower to her neck, thought he might just slip off from how fast they were going. Too fast, when he couldn’t see where they were; he tugged on her mane with an _easy, girl._ It took the mustang a little longer to slow, but she obeyed, panting and snorting.

 “Good work, girl!”

 The mustang tossed her head about but didn’t seem displeased. She eased back into her smooth canter as they crossed the meadows. A few more hours’ ride and Arthur could be in a bed, or on his way home. So very close.

 Arthur urged the mustang to slow more. His aches had begun to intensify again, and he figured now would be as good a time to rest as any. He steered the mare towards the creek so they could both drink.

 He still worried she might bolt the second he slid from her back. The mustang nudged at his hands, and when she found no peppermints, trotted over to the water. Arthur chuckled and crouched next to her to get his own drink. He sat, leaning back on his elbows and watched the mustang drink her fill. Once done, she returned to him and nosed all over again, clearly looking for treats.

 “That really all it took? _One_ peppermint? Here I was treatin’ you all proper and you just needed a _peppermint_.” He realized a grin had split his face, and he was reaching into his satchel for another peppermint before he even knew what he was doing.

 The mustang gobbled it and licked his hand, then nibbled on his ear. She danced away before he could swat her for it. The mare stood, just a few steps away, waiting for Arthur to chase her.

 “Maybe another time, girl,” and he struggled back to his feet and over to the mustang. She held still, this time, as he mounted up again with his usual pats to her neck.

 Arthur scanned the meadow before kicking the mustang into motion again. Part of it looked _real_ familiar, but he couldn’t quite figure out _why_. The mare whinnied and snorted. Arthur pat her again and shooshed her, but she kept tossing her head and stepping sideways.

 “C’mon girl, you’re bigger than those little snakes, just stomp on em.”

 The mustang stopped entirely, raised onto her back feet enough to stamp her front hooves with a loud cry. She repeated the motion; Arthur frantically looked around for what the hell had spooked her.

 Suddenly she shot off through the meadow. Arthur had just enough time to grab at her mane to avoid being thrown off. The mustang ran a wide circle, panicked, no idea where to go.

 Arthur saw it when the mustang danced in place.

 A cougar. He’d seen them through here before, remembered someone saying there was a den nearby. He weren’t the only one who appreciated the easy hunting in the meadow.

 The mustang locked eyes on the cougar slinking towards them. Time did not slow. Time never slowed in these moments. The cougar lunged. The mare moved and Arthur was falling through the air for the second time that day. At least this time he knew it wasn’t too far, wouldn’t be too bad of a landing.

 Arthur more heard than felt his shoulder pop free of the socket. The pain blinded him and he lost track of things for a few seconds, a few minutes, an hour, a day, eternity. Arthur closed his eyes and accepted that this was how he was finally going to go. Broken, bleeding, hungry out in the middle of nowhere. No one would know he’d died. Would they think he up and left like John?

 Hoofbeats close enough to shake the ground under his head. Shrill noises, noises he’d never heard a horse make that triggered something primal deep in his gut. Arthur opened his eyes but they refused to focus and all he could see were two dark shapes slamming into each other over and over until one of them stopped moving. The surviving shape turned towards Arthur and he squeezed his eyes shut. He’d never thought of himself as a coward, but he weren’t too keen on watching a wild animal maul him. Had seen enough to know what it would be like.

 The animal stopped next to him, nearly brushing his aching shoulder.Arthur could feel the bones grinding together as he tried to shift away from his oncoming death.

 Warm whiskered lips tickled along his neck and up his face until he opened his eyes. The mustang snuffled along his face and snorted into his hair. Arthur grabbed into her mane without a second thought. She wickered and kept nudging at him until he brought both arms up around her neck.

 “There’s a good girl.”

 She huffed into his hair and raised her neck until Arthur was on his knees. She kept nudging at him until he managed to stand, wobbling, most of his weight slumped against her.

 The mare kept making low, soft noises until Arthur pet down her face. A small laugh escaped him and he leaned his head against her neck, eyes closed. Hands fisted in her mane.

 After a long moment she snorted, feet shifting impatiently. Arthur remembered the other blurry shape and looked across the clearing. His eyes landed on the mangled body of the cougar. The mare swung her heads towards him, nosed along his tattered shirt. Arthur looked into her big brown eyes and she blinked slowly.

 “You’re a brave girl.” He couldn't see any open wounds on her. Amazed she'd come away from a cougar unscathed.

 He struggled onto her back. Her head swung around again, watching Arthur as tried to find his balance. She was still looking directly at him when he heaved a sigh.

 “How’s about we call you Calliope, girl.”

 She blinked, nickered, and bobbed her head. Then she started trotting towards the treeline unbidden.

 Arthur dozed. He didn’t know where Calliope was taking them. Didn’t much care. Things looked somewhat familiar, like he was close to paths he’d ridden before, but exhaustion pulled heavy at him and it was hard to conjure any kind of map to orient himself.

 The mustang had killed a cougar, after all, and came back for him. He figured he could trust her. Figured they couldn't be far from civilization. He’d only been riding half a day before the ambush. River couldn’t take him _that_ far, could it?

 Calliope abruptly stopped with a harsh snort. She reared a little, not enough to unseat him but enough to wake him up.

 “Well if it ain’t the great Arthur Morgan.”

 _Aw hell_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't touch me I'm sobbing over video game horses ok

The light breeze had turned into a stiff wind. It rushed through the grass and shook the trees, blurring sounds together. Something that could’ve been whistling seemed to come from deep within the woods, but he was sure he must have imagined it. How could he have forgotten. The fucking O’Driscoll camp at the old ranch. Right on the other side of the goddamn meadow. He’d rather go against another cougar than deal with these idiots right now.

 _Not making it into town tonight_.

 Arthur raised his hands in surrender. As well as he could; his shoulder had swelled up something fierce, jostled without any kind of sling, and he couldn’t move it more than a few inches. Wasn’t sure how he was going to get it back into place. _Might not matter, might not make it out of this alive_.

 “I said put ‘em up!”

 “I can’t, you damn fool, m’ shoulder’s busted.”

 “Donny said you was dead, saw you go over them falls.”

 “If only.”

 The man at the front of the group raised his gun higher. “How ‘bout you come down off that horse and we won’t shoot you for all the trouble you caused.”

 Arthur snorted. Calliope shifted beneath him. He squeezed her ribs. He trusted her, sure, but she was still a wild animal. One of the O’Driscolls dismounted and approached Arthur with a length of rope.

 Arthur felt Calliope shift and that was all the warning he had before she barrelled through the line of O’Driscolls. She slammed between two of the horses, kicking out behind her. Arthur heard her unshod hooves tear through their flanks and their shrieks followed a second after. Arthur was jostled, certain he’d have deeper bruises, but at that moment he didn’t care as bullets whizzed past them. Calliope bellowed, again a sound Arthur didn’t know horses capable of making, and ploughed through the high grass with such an ease Arthur lost his breath for a moment. Calliope was a force of nature, as much a part of the landscape as the birds and the mountains and the streams.

 A bullet whipped close enough to Arthur’s cheek to draw blood and he was ripped from his thoughts. Another bullet found a home in the meat of his thigh and he cried out. Calliope swerved, changed directions rapidly, forced Arthur to lean over her neck, mane clenched in bare hands so tight he was sure it had to be hurting her. Her sides labored beneath him. Bullets hit near her hooves and she made another noise, a terrible noise as if she were summoning some ancient wrath to give her strength. Arthur no longer had any idea where they were or where they were going.

 The mustang vaulted a rocky outcropping. Arthur jolted sideways when she landed. A deep, deep _thud_ as one horse didn’t clear the rocks, the rider screaming, the horse screaming, the other riders cursing Arthur as Calliope galloped farther into the darkening woods. Sweat lathered her sides and gathered at her chest and rolled into her eyes; she tossed her head with a whinny and put her head down and charged forward. Trees blurred past them faster than Arthur had ever seen and he imagined this might be what it felt like to fly.

 One leg slipped from her back. He ignored the fire in his shoulder and gripped her neck tight, feet dragged along the rocky forest floor. Wood splintered against his back as more bullets flew towards them. Calliope tossed her neck, tried to help him get his seat back. She slowed, not by much, but enough Arthur could kick a leg off the ground without tripping her up, swing the leg out just high enough to hook his heel behind her shoulder. His legs burned, his lungs burned, pins shot through his hands where they gripped her mane tighter than a vice but he got back on, kept low, chest flush against her shoulders. Calliope snorted, breathed hard—heaved the deepest breath Arthur had ever felt her take.

 Arthur finally looked at where she had taken them and his whole body went numb. He pulled at her mane frantically but she ignored him, ignored him even when he pulled tight enough to rip some of the hair loose and draw blood.

 Arthur closed his eyes when she leapt off the cliff.

 He thought the moment would stretch into an eternity, the way moments seemed to do when they skirt the line of death, the way they did in shoot outs when he was sure he was going to die and the only thing left was to shoot _shoot shoot_ _pull the trigger_.

 They slammed onto a lower shelf with a bone-rattling thud. Calliope must have known it was there, no way she could’ve run blindly through a forest and been willing to dash them both to death at the bottom of a cliff. She skidded a bit on loose stones but easily got her grip back. No need to gallop along the narrow cliff ledge, but she went faster than Arthur would’ve with a domestic horse.

 Calliope was not concerned with knowing what happened to their pursuers. She clearly had a destination in mind, keeping close to the rock face that climbed higher and higher away from them, put an impossible distance between them and the O’Driscolls, kept them safe behind the ancient stone.

 It didn’t take the remaining men long to catch up to them. One didn’t stop in time and screamed the entire way down. Arthur felt bad about the horses, but he couldn’t spend too long dwelling on it. The last two men were shouting something down at him, but adrenaline pumped blood too harsh and too fast for him to catch what.

 Calliope sped up. Arthur looked behind them.

 There was no other way into the canyon than to jump to the ledge. The domestic horses wouldn’t even get close to it, and the O’Driscolls fired a few lazy shots in Arthur’s direction, but the cliff was already starting to curve protectively overhead. Some rocks cracked nearby, the men swore, and Arthur heard them pounding their horses back the way they had come.

 Breath shuddered through Calliope. Arthur began to look her over for wounds, but nothing marred her sides and she just seemed worn from the run.

 “Nice job, girl.”

 Calliope snorted, glanced at him, and started to slow her pace. As she slowed, the adrenaline seeped from Arthur, and new aches made themselves known again. He thought he remembered getting shot, but things were starting to go black and fuzzy, sounds not coming in properly. His hands felt cold. Was he on a horse?

 Calliope whinnied, high, stressed, as Arthur’s eyes shut and he started to slide sideways off her. She stopped and tried to maneuver her body to press him against the cliff, keep him from falling off completely. He slumped against the rock. She stomped her feet, whinnied, shifted, tried to rouse him but he just kept sliding. Calliope lowered herself onto her knees.

 He slouched awkwardly against her flank. Calliope lay down, legs tucked beneath her, head worriedly piled in Arthur’s lap. She huffed warm breath against his face, nudged his hands, nibbled on his ear. When she didn’t get swatted for that she nickered more insistently, puffed her breath harder against his face.

 Arthur came to, slowly, hot air gusting against the underside of his jaw. Calliope slid into focus, head tucked under Arthur’s chin. She made a noise low in her throat and nudged him again. He brought a shaky hand up to the side of her face and pat her cheek, left his hand there. Calliope blinked her big, big round brown eyes at Arthur and he found himself lost in them.

 Eventually he realized they were on the ground. Cold stone numbed him where his ruined shirt had ridden up. Fresh scratches oozed along his back. He thought maybe he’d earned a few more bullet grazes along his ribs, too.

 Arthur leaned his head against the cliff wall. Calliope nudged his jaw, harder this time, until he opened his eyes.

 “Alright girl, let’s get moving.”

 Calliope did not move as Arthur unfolded himself from between her and the cliff face.

 “C’mon girl, gotta get up.”

 Calliope snorted, nudge his leg. It took Arthur another moment to realize she was waiting for him to get on her back.

 “Yeah, that’s a good girl,” he said as he rubbed along her blaze. He hunched over her back, wove his fingers into her mane and she hauled them both up with a grunt. Arthur could feel her pulse thrumming in her neck. He couldn’t have been passed out too long if her heart was still going that fast, so that at least was reassuring.

 He rubbed along the spots of her mane where he’d torn the hair clean out. “Aw I’m sorry, girl.”

 Calliope shook her head and wickered. He patted her neck and she sped up through a trot into a fast canter.

 The canyon let out onto a narrow, deep river, and Arthur thought he had a good idea where they were. He tugged Calliope’s mane to get her to slow; she seemed reluctant, but stopped eventually.

 “Woah there girl.” The world spun around Arthur and he had to squeeze his eyes shut. Felt like he was going to slide right off again. Calliope pawed impatiently at the ground with a front hoof.

 “Maybe I _should_ let you lead us, huh girl?”

 Calliope snorted and started walking again. Arthur sat on her, lopsided, barely able to keep his eyes open. He tried to guide her along the river but Calliope seemed determined in her path.

 

-0 - 0 - 0 -

 

Arthur didn’t wake again until Calliope reached back and tugged on his pants. He hauled in a breath, hissing as all his cuts came back to life. He couldn’t move his shoulder at all, now, it seemed, and he only just remembered that there was likely still a bullet in his leg.

 Calliope yanked on his pants again and Arthur realized they had stopped on the outskirts of Valentine.

 His breath left him in a great gust.

 “You did good, girl.”

 Calliope snorted and trotted towards town. Arthur had never been so grateful to see such a shitty little town. His vision was tunneling again, but he could hear people exclaiming as Calliope trotted down the main road, snorting nervously the whole time. Arthur snapped his eyes open long enough to steer her towards the doctor.

 Someone called out to him as Calliope came to a stop. Arthur slid one leg over her back to dismount, just like he’d done thousands of times out of his well-worn saddle. Only he forgot he had no saddle, had been shot, and was barely conscious.

 Arthur was out before he slammed into the deep mud.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a little delirious by the time I finished this, hope it all makes sense.  
> I may be just a little obsessed with this game. Gimme an open world and a horse and apparently I'll freely give you 200+ hours of my life.

Weak sunlight bulged through the cracks in the dusty curtains, slanted perfectly across Arthur’s eyes and annoyed him awake.

“There he is.”

It took a few more moments for the person to come into focus, the room still blurry behind them.

“Hosea? How long was I out?”

“Oh, a day or so. We were wondering when you’d come back to us.”

“Mmm, didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

“Lucky Charles and John were in town asking after you. They said you were on a different horse, no saddle. It took off before anyone could get a lead on it, I’m afraid.” Hosea held out a canteen. Arthur drained it. “What happened to Nero?”

“Goddamn O’Driscolls.”

“That what happened to you, too?”

Arthur laughed, dry. “Sorta.”

“Mm, I guessed as much. What else?”

“Long story, Hosea, and ‘m tired.”

Hosea took the canteen back and pat Arthur’s hand where it lay atop the blankets. “You go ahead and rest, son.”

  
\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

 

They hauled Arthur out of the hotel the next day, tucked him into a wagon, Hosea and Charles. Hosea said John’d found a lead on a rich homestead and went to rob it with Javier and Sean. Charles kept quiet, ever watchful eyes scanning the roads while his hands rested on the gun in his lap. Arthur tried to keep his eyes open, but he was still completely drained. He watched the empty road behind them as Valentine dwindled, hoped to see a splash of dull red racing to catch up to them. Something twisted in his chest when they made it all the way back to Horseshoe Overlook without a single sign of Calliope.

Charles helped him down from the wagon and over to his cot. Hosea said something about going into town to get Arthur a new horse and a saddle.

“Not just yet, Hosea.”

“You need a horse, Arthur.”

“Ain’t gonna be able to ride one for a while, no point gettin’ one to have her sit around camp being’ useless.”

Hosea hummed to himself. “We talking about a horse, or about you?”

“Just. Wait, Hosea, please.”

Hosea held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, if you insist. Holler if you need anything.”

Arthur lay in his cot and spent the rest of the day fending off everyone’s concern. Miss Grimshaw came by with stew and refused to leave him be until he finished it all.

“Hosea told me you barely ate, Mr. Morgan. You have to keep up your strength.”

“Yes, Miss Grimshaw.”

He didn’t allow her to spoon-feed him, though, just awkwardly kept the bowl in his lap and ate one-handed.

Hosea had given him a very stern lecture on the drive back from Valentine. _Doctor said you tore up that shoulder pretty good, said there could be permanent damage if you strain it anymore._ Shoulder hurt worse than where they’d dug the bullet from his thigh. Lucky he’d been passed out nearly dead when they did that and didn’t remember much.

Susan took the empty bowl from him with a rare kind smile. “I’ve got my eye on you, Mr. Morgan, no funny business.”

“You know me.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you, Susan.”

“Be well, Arthur.”

Arthur sighed and settled farther into the pillows at his back. That was another thing, evidently, the doctor insisted on. Keep weight off the shoulder. Arthur had never slept with so many pillows in his life, and it felt unnecessary and undeserved. Laid up with a pile of soft down pillows and half the gang was sleepin’ in the dirt.

Someone cleared their throat from the foot of his cot. Charles stood there, Arthur’s satchel held out. “Forgot this in the wagon.” He placed it square in Arthur’s lap. “How you feeling?”

Arthur snorted. “Like shit. How do I look?”

“Like shit.”

Arthur cracked a smile that Charles briefly returned. “Mind if I sit?”

“Be my guest.”

Charles took the seat Miss Grimshaw recently vacated.

“Where’d you get that horse?”

“Caught ‘er.”

“Without any rope?”

“Weren’t easy.”

“I bet. Mustang like that, don’t see them often. As wild as they get.”

“She sure was.”

“We tried to keep her there but she was real nervous, and getting you to the doctor was more important. Wagon spooked her.”

Arthur looked down at his satchel. Charles always managed to see right through him.

“Went through a lot together, didn’t you?”

Arthur still didn’t look up. He pulled his journal from his satchel just to give his hands something to do.

“I’m sorry Arthur, she seemed like a fine horse.”

“She sure was.”

Charles stood abruptly. “Well, my turn for watch.”

“Catch you later.”

Arthur idly flipped through his journal as the sounds of camp filtered over to him. Uncle stumbling around, drunk earlier than usual. Kieren’s tremulous squeak as Bill harassed him again. Dutch starting up one of his operas.

Arthur looked down at the journal and realized he’d stopped on Nero’s smudged drawing. He tore the page out and crumpled it, tossed it over his shoulder before he could think about what he was doing. He ignored the tears gathering in his eyes and squeezed them shut. Still had no idea where his damn hat was, had nothing to shove over his eyes so he could pretend he was sleeping. Wasn’t allowed to get out of his damn cot without help for another few days. He’d tried, ten minutes after they got back from Valentine, and Miss Grimshaw was on him faster than a bear on a beehive. Threatened to tie him down if he tried it again. Not like he could resist, anyways, legs weak and trembling when he tried to use them. Practically had to be carried down the stairs of the hotel.

So Arthur yanked one of the pillows out from behind his back and shoved it over his face.

  


\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

 

_A few weeks later_

Arthur still wasn’t allowed to use his arm. Hosea and Miss Grimshaw had conspired with the whole camp to make sure Arthur didn’t so much as lift a feather, and it was driving him to the point of violence. Hosea came by his cot every morning to make sure to limb was still secured against him, like some wounded bird. Arthur glowered every time, but it just made Hosea chuckle and pat his knee.

Bored out of his mind and unable to contribute, Arthur started picking fights. John and Javier had returned from the homestead with a good chunk of cash and heavy jewelry bags. Arthur drank himself to sleep that night, and hollered at John every opportunity he got the next day.

Arthur sneered at John from his spot at Pearson’s wagon. Arthur had convinced Pearson to at least let him cut up the carrots.“Little Johnny Marston—”

John stopped abruptly and stalked over to Arthur. “Morgan I _swear_!”

“Alright that’s _enough_!” Hosea quickly got between them, bodily shoving John back. “John, go see what Abigail wanted. Arthur, come with me.”

Arthur tossed the small paring knife onto the scuffed table and limped after Hosea. His neck was starting to itch with overgrown beard but he wasn’t about to ask anyone for help. And no one was going to let him on a horse to get into town.

Hosea marched him to the edge of camp, to one of the lookout spots.

“Sit.”

Arthur folded his arms across his chest, best he could. It was the farthest thing from intimidating.

“What are you doing, Arthur.”

“Marston’s pissin’ me off.”

“Way you’re acting, it seems the whole camp’s been pissing you off.” Hosea put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Look, son, I know you’re getting stir crazy but you can’t take it out on John.”

Arthur shrugged the hand off. “Why not.”

Hosea sighed. “I was thinking of heading into town for some supplies, would you care to join me?”

Arthur stared at the dirt, kicked a pebble. “Sure, why not,” he answered after a beat.

To Arthur’s great surprise, Hosea led him over to Silver Dollar and another saddled horse he didn’t recognize. A morgan mare, dark palomino. Arthur thought he remembered seeing her in the Valentine stable.

“This your idea of a joke, Hosea?”

“Beg your pardon? Oh, Tabitha. No, she’s on loan at the moment, thought we should give some of the other horses a rest.”

“Uh-huh.” Arthur pat the mare’s neck and she immediately pushed her nose into his hand. “You tryna get me soft on her?”

“Like I said, she’s on loan. You need any help mounting up?”

“Na I got it.”

Only a partial lie, Arthur thought. He’d gotten onto Calliope’s back when he was much worse off, and she was a good bit taller than the petite morgan. He managed it, just barely, but soon they were off to town, Hosea leading the way.

“Figured we could stop by the doctor’s, get your shoulder checked out. Maybe get you out of that sling.”

“Damn thing’s driving me _crazy_ , Hosea,” Arthur said with some desperation, now that they weren’t around wandering ears.

“I know son, I know. Necessary evil. You still want to be able to shoot, don’t you?”

“Yeah yeah, I know,” Arthur grumbled. Tabitha hardly needed any guidance, seemed to know exactly where they were going. She was probably one of the most docile horses he’d ever ridden. “Where’s this horse ‘on loan’ from?”

“Oh? Just the stable. Fellow that owns it says he keeps her for rentals, bit too old and small to sell at this point.”

Arthur grunted. Unfortunate. He could’ve seen himself sticking with her, if pressed. Didn’t know what his options were, exactly. Lost all his money in that damn river. Didn’t quite feel right buying a horse after all he did with Calliope. Wouldn’t be the same.

Tabitha slowed beneath him. They’d made it to Valentine without Arthur noticing.

“Let’s see the doctor first, get you sorted.”

  


Arthur nearly whooped when his arm was freed from the sling. Couldn’t keep himself from grinning ear to ear, and Hosea seemed to catch his excitement as well. Arthur rolled his shoulder, worked out some of the stiffness.

“Boy does that feel good.”

“I bet. Why don’t you go freshen up while I get the supplies. Here.” Hosea pressed a stack of bills into Arthur’s hand.

“Hosea, I can’t—”

“Don’t start, Arthur, just take it. You look awful.”

Arthur grinned. Hosea grinned back, clapped his shoulder. “Seriously, Arthur, go get yourself a shave and a hot bath. Another day and Miss Grimshaw was going to dunk you in the rain barrel.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Arthur took his time. After he got shaved and trimmed, he ordered a few drinks and leaned against the bar. Slow day. Not many people there, no one at the poker table. Even the bigoted trapper was absent today. Saloon seemed too quiet without him, almost. Arthur ordered one last drink before sauntering over to the hotel for a bath.

Spirits lifted, he met back up with Hosea a few hours later. Tabitha was still calmly nudged up against Silver Dollar. She seemed to be dozing. Arthur almost didn’t want to wake her. He offered her a peppermint for her troubles before mounting up and trotting after Hosea out of town.

“How old you say she was?”

“Tabitha? Oh, sixteen, going on seventeen I think.”

Arthur whistled. “And he’s still got her working? Shit, maybe we should just keep her.”

“Not sure that would be such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Fellow who runs the stable says lotta kids come by to learn to ride on her, gentle in her old age. She’s got a good life, she’s well taken care of. ”

“And here she is, running with outlaws.”

“Even old women like to have fun, Arthur.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, sure Hosea knew he was doing it even as he rode ahead. They were coming up fast on the overlook. Charles called out from the trees as they approached.

“Just Hosea and Arthur, thank you Charles.”

Charles followed them back as they walked the horses over to the hitching posts. “Glad to see your arm’s finally better.”

“Me too.” Arthur offered Tabitha a sugar cube and a scratch behind the ears. He pulled her saddle off and draped it over the post and started brushing her down, even though she was hardly dirty from their brief trip. He missed doing this, really, and it pulled at his chest. Hosea waved at Arthur and disappeared into camp.They’d been in town for the better part of the day, and the sun had set just as they returned.

“Feeling any better?”

“I suppose.”

Charles nodded, gave Tabitha a few pats as well. “I’m here if you ever want to talk.”

Arthur stuttered in his brushing. A lot of people had offered, over the weeks, mostly the camp women. _Let me know if you want to talk about it, Arthur_ , and _you doing ok, Arthur? You can always come talk to me_ and _wanna talk about it, Arthur? I know you was real sweet on that horse_ as if he didn’t get lost in the woods and shot at on a regular basis.

“What’s there to talk about.”

Charles didn’t look away, but his face didn’t change. Sometimes Arthur really hated that man’s unflappable stoicism. “Lots to talk about.”

Arthur shoved the brush back into his satchel. “I don’t think so.” And stomped for his cot. He hollered something at Kieren about making sure to take care of the horses before disappearing into his tent.

Arthur angrily shoved the pillows off his cot. Was gonna throw the damn things in the fire if he had to look at them for one more second. He crushed one of them between his hands before he realized what he was doing, set it down on the chair and neatly stacked the others atop it. Normally he’d go for a ride to clear his head, but he _didn’t have a horse_. Tabitha was sweet but she wouldn’t hold up to the kind of riding he needed to do.

He glanced around camp, trying to be subtle about it. Then he gathered up the pillows and set about redistributing them to more deserving folk.

  


\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

 

Long after everyone was drunk and in bed, Arthur sat against his wagon, journal propped up on his knees as he sketched a landscape from memory. He lost himself in the scratches of the pencil against paper. Didn’t notice he was drawing the meadows were he and Calliope ran into the O’Driscolls until he set his pencil down to sharpen it.

He stared at the sketch and sighed. All these _feelings_ over a _horse_. He hadn’t been this torn up since Boadicea, and he thought he’d been able to put that behind him.

 _Didn’t do half what Calliope did_.

“Arthur.”

Too tired to be startled, Arthur slowly swung his gaze over to Charles. The man hadn’t been drinking—come to think of it, Arthur didn’t think he’d seen Charles since their little talk earlier.

“Yes Charles?”

“You’ve got a visitor”

“A what?”

“Someone’s here to see you.”

Was that a smile? Arthur couldn’t tell. The hell kinda visitor comes this late at night? Arthur was too tired to properly think it through. There was grit in his eyes and he felt more tired than he had been all week. He’d overdone it having a pillow fight with Jack, not that he’d ever say that out loud to anyone.That knowledge died with him.

He shut his journal and tossed it onto his cot. Stretched, popped his back. Charles actually _chuckled_.

“Come on, old man.”

Arthur grunted. “Not that much older’n you.”

“Right. This way.”

The full moon speckled enough light through the trees it almost didn’t look like night. A rabbit skittered across the path. Turkeys scratched the dirt just outside the bounds of camp. Charles led him down the path towards the triangle of dead trees at the entrance.

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. The horse at the end of the path whinnied and trotted up to him, tossing her head. She got close enough she shoved her head against Arthur’s chest. A startled laugh boomed from his chest before he could stop himself and both hands came up to bury themselves in Calliope’s mane. She snuffled around his pockets, nosed at his hands, nibbled at his ear. Charles tried to hide his smile.

She danced a few steps away, came back around to shove her head under Arthur’s arm from the back. He slung an arm over her neck, one hand scratching between her ears, the other running up and down her blaze.

“She’s a special one, Arthur.”

“Haha, yeah that’s my girl.” Arthur dug around and found a lonely peppermint in his jeans pocket and offered it to Calliope. She took it with a shrill whinny. Some of the camp horses answered, uncertain. “Let’s get you to camp before you spook all the other horses, kay girl?”

Calliope glued herself to Arthur’s side as they walked back to the hitching posts.

“Thank you, Charles.”

“Anytime.”

Arthur guided Calliope to stand next to Tabitha, who had clearly been asleep, head lowered, one hoof raised. Tabitha slowly arched her small head towards Calliope, sniffed, and went back to sleep. Calliope nosed around Tabitha for a bit but gave up when the older mare wouldn’t engage. Arthur laughed again at her antics, loud and genuine. Someone drunkenly grumbled from their bedroll for him to shut the hell up they were trying to sleep, goddammit.

Calliope swiveled her ears to take in the noises of the sleepy camp. She seemed immediately at ease. Arthur didn’t feel the need to tie her up.

Her head came back so she could stare at Arthur. She huffed hot breath into his face and gave a deep, world-weary sigh.

“I know girl, I know.”

She blinked at him, slow. He absently started petting her again, not realizing at some point she had fallen asleep. He gave her a final pat and started back for his cot.

Calliope caught the back of his jacket firmly in her teeth.

“I gotta sleep too, girl.”

She huffed. Arthur tried to free his jacket, but Calliope just pulled harder.

“Now now, Calliope, don’t—”

Calliope pulled hard enough to drag Arthur back against her. Still holding onto his jacket, she lowered herself to the ground and Arthur was forced to follow her or risk ripping his jacket. Tabitha snorted and shifted away from them as Calliope lay all the way down, legs tucked neatly against her. Arthur leaned against her stomach, her steady breaths and rich warmth luring him towards sleep.

“Alright, girl.”

  
  


\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

 

“This might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“He looks so _peaceful_.”

“Ain’t ever seen him sleep so deep.”

“I know! Lenny practically tripped over them when he came hollering in this morning! And over a damn deer. Like we ain’t had enough _deer stew_.”

“Y’know it ain’t polite to talk about folk like they ain’t there,” Arthur grumbled without opening his eyes. He thought he knew who the voices belonged to, but his shoulder hurt and he didn’t want anyone rushing to help him so he kept his eyes shut. Behind him, Calliope snorted, but didn’t move her head from his lap.

He cracked an eye open and sure enough, Mary-Beth and Tilly were staring down at him, steaming coffee mugs in hand.

“Sorry Arthur.” Tilly always was polite.

“This the horse you were mumbling about these last few weeks?” Mary-Beth held out one hand for Calliope to smell. The mustang sniffed it gently, then snapped her teeth near Mary-Beth’s fingers. Not actually biting, just close enough to startle. Mary-Beth staggered back, hand to her chest.

“Real piece of work ain’t she?”

“She’s wild as they come, Mary-Beth, I do apologize.” Arthur pat Calliope’s flank, then pushed off and struggled to his feet. The women immediately offered him a hand but he waved it off. Calliope grunted as she stood and wasted no time nudging at Arthur’s pockets. “Best stay away from her ‘til I get her trained up.”

“She’s beautiful.” Tilly hung back, both hands around her coffee. Mary-Beth pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders.

“How’d you get her?”

“Ah, long story, too long this early in the morning.” Arthur gently shoved Calliope’s nose away from his pockets and scratched her ears, hoping it would placate her enough for him to get some kind of halter fashioned for her. “And I gotta pop into town and get a new saddle for this girl.”

Mary-Beth and Tilly both gave him fond smiles. “What’s her name?” Tilly asked before taking a hearty sip of her coffee. Mary-Beth waved and turned back to camp.

“Calliope.”

“Welcome to the gang, Calliope. Good luck, Arthur.”

Arthur gave her a playful salute. A smile engulfed his face as Calliope whacked her nose against his chest, extremely insistent now. “I’m sorry girl, hungry aintchya?”

Calliope tried to follow Arthur as he went to grab a hay bale from by John’s tent. She was stopped by Charles, who she seemed to just barely tolerate touching her, but he kept her busy with a stack of oatcakes.

“Don’t go spoiling her now.”

“Like you haven’t already.”

Arthur grunted as he dropped the hay bale and kicked it loose for the horses to graze from. He leaned in close to Charles and spoke in a stage whisper.  “ ‘M the only one allowed to.”

“Mhmm. Glad she made it back. See you around.”

Calliope leaned against Arthur as she grazed. A few of the other horses sniffed at her; she ignored them and trotted away once she’d had her fill. She looked back at Arthur, expecting him to follow.

Arthur swung onto her back easy as breathing. “Okay girl, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I JUST LOVE THE WILD MUSTANGS OK.
> 
> I reblog things on tumblr. http://barbarosebeee.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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